


Seven Kisses

by littlecakes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21940096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecakes/pseuds/littlecakes
Summary: Ignatz receives kisses from all of the Golden Deer.Written for a friend for a holiday exchange on the Tripolarity RP server :)
Relationships: Claude von Riegan/Ignatz Victor, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Ignatz Victor, Leonie Pinelli/Ignatz Victor, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Ignatz Victor, Lysithea von Ordelia/Ignatz Victor, Marianne von Edmund/Ignatz Victor, Raphael Kirsten/Ignatz Victor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 86





	Seven Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> yeah I ship like... all of these now RIP THEO I HOPE YOURE HAPPY

Claude kisses Ignatz like he doesn’t mean to. It’s almost teasing, how he kisses him; he’ll touch his lips to Ignatz’ jaw as they embrace and the sensation is so gentle, so fleeting, that Ignatz wonders if it’s a simple breeze caressing his skin and not those lush lips. Ignatz almost undeniably shivers, but that’s just how it  _ is. _ Claude is some kind of mystery and Ignatz is willing to revel in the shroud the man surrounds himself in.

He reminds Ignatz of some of his favorite poems- the best part being the little, hidden meanings that the authors tangle in their words like fine strands of silk. By the time he’s realized the gossamer strands are there, they’re lost on the breeze and Ignatz is just missing them.

And Claude always laughs, clear and deep like a bell.

“Gotcha again,” Claude teases, smiling down at Ignatz.

This, of course, makes him positively breathless. His blush must get to the other boy, because Claude always swoops down to kiss him again, this one unmistakable. The press of their lips is always saccharine and short, but perfect all the same, and Ignatz always wants more.

  
  
  


Kissing Lysithea is like playing with fire. Ignatz knows better; he’ll surely burn for getting too close, but it’s just so hard to resist. Lysithea, with her sweet, pale cheeks, rosy like chrysanthemums in the garden, are just so pretty. And she sits so sweetly for paintings, too, always holding still and watching him with careful, steely eyes. Lysithea is pure power and capturing that essence in oil is Ignatz’ dying wish. She seems to know it too, with the way the corner of her mouth twists into a little smirk as she sits for him.

The petite, platinum-haired girl isn’t one for affection. Perhaps it would show too much naivete, or too much innocence, to allow herself to be held, but Ignatz is careful in the ways he touches her. A guiding hand to her elbow, a gentle finger brushing the loose hair from her white eyelashes. She’s otherworldly, almost, with her beauty and spitfire.

And when they’re alone, Lysithea will let down those walls a little, just enough to lean over and kiss him. He can taste the sweet apple tea that she loves so much right there on the curve of her lip. He wishes he could paint that, too. Such sweetness should be immortalized.

  
  
  
  


Ignatz can’t help but feel like a kiss from Lorenz would be a curse - such a skirtchaser probably doesn’t know  _ how _ to kiss- but he’s wrong. He’s so, so wrong, and he’s so happy to be wrong. Lorenz has taught him many things: how to pour a proper cup of tea, how to greet the high bishops courteously, how to dance. So many surprising lessons have happened, too; Lorenz has taught him how to give and how to appreciate the finer things in life. 

Perhaps that’s why Ignatz allow himself to steep in Lorenz’s kiss like leaves in steaming-hot water. Lorenz is a polite kisser, of course. Modest hands stay at the waist and Lorenz never hesitates to brush Ignatz’s bangs from his eyes; whether it’s to allow the shorter boy to fixate on the other’s fine, angular features or simply because Lorenz wants to look into Ignatz’s honey-brown eyes, he’ll never know.

Lorenz whispers sweet, sweet praise (“divine, positively divine”) and Ignatz melts into him like sugar into tea. Lips part, there’s tongue, it’s teasing, and he really feels like he’s going to melt now. Perhaps he is, with the way Lorenz’s grip tightens on his waist and that tongue probes further.

Or, perhaps, Lorenz is just as smitten as Ignatz is.

  
  
  
  


“A kiss for every shot you make,” Leonie says, thrusting a bow into Ignatz’s hands. It’s a longbow; the back of the bow is decorated with embossed plates of silver, the necks carved sloping and deep into each end. It’s a beautiful bow. Whoever crafted it must have worked hard to create such a gorgeous weapon. Ignatz is bewildered to think that something this beautiful will claim lives. Perhaps that’s appropriate.

When he pulls back on the string, the strong arms of the bow creak. Ignatz’s arms begin to burn almost immediately. This bow’s weight is heavier than any he’s ever tried, but he doesn’t doubt Leonie’s challenge. She wouldn’t give him something he couldn’t do. Leonie’s always been a force of nature, and propelled him forward in his journey to knighthood whether he was ready for it or not. He’s grateful, despite the bruises and the aches that have inevitably came with such progress.

He lets go of the string and the arrow sinks into the target with a  _ thump. _

“That’s one,” Leonie says, her tone satisfied and pleased. She leans down to kiss him, her nose brushing against his as her plush, pink lips collide with him in an infinitesimal moment. Ignatz smiles, flushed, as Leonie pulls away and hands him another arrow.

“Again.”

  
  
  
  


Ignatz finds it really hard to say no to Hilda. It’s really, really hard to say no to Hilda. Ignatz wants to say no to Hilda. He’s practiced saying no to Hilda in his mirror in his room. “ _ Oh Ignatz, can you please help me put these scrolls away? There’s just so many and I’m afraid I’ll crush them!  _ No, Hilda, do your own work,” he says, pointing at himself in the mirror, sporting a stern face. She really should do her own work. It’s not fair to heap her share onto everyone else.

When he sees those fair, rose-colored eyes wrinkle with sadness when he says no, though… he just can’t take it. So he caves. He spends his whole afternoon dusting the library. There had been other plans, other intentions for his time, but when he sees Hilda’s sparkling smile, it’s a reward in and of itself.

Then there’s the kisses. Hilda’s kisses are wonderful. Her lips are a dream. The taste of her lip balm is a wonder, the shape of her cupid’s bow simply whimsical. Ignatz cannot get enough of Hilda, or her kisses. When she pulls away, those eyes are glittering with impish delight.

“Wow, Ignatz, what a good kisser! You really knocked it outta the park, y’know? I should kiss you more often!” she says, heaping on the praise.

He smiles, and continues cleaning.

  
  
  
  


It’s not so much Marianne kissing Ignatz as it is Ignatz kissing Marianne. There’s something about that periwinkle-colored beauty that captivates him. Her shadowed eyes hide secrets, and Ignatz wants to see them. He wants to understand her, to know her, to comfort her, to guide her. He wants to see her blossom into the beautiful creature he knows she is.

When she’s feeling brave, she’ll look up into his eyes. Hers are a beautiful shade of brown, reminding him of the coat of a chestnut horse, or the bark of an old, weathered tree. Her eyes show so much. When she looks at him, they spark, just a little, and that tiny spark is enough to ignite a roaring fire in his heart.

“Iggy,” she says, and it’s so soft Ignatz can hardly hear it, but that trembling, terrified note of affection captivates him.

So he kisses her. It’s tender and short-lived, but it’s more than enough. The way she smiles after is a simple kind of bliss that Ignatz relishes.

  
  
  
  


Strong, callused hands nearly consume his waist. Were Raphael to stretch his palms just a little further, spread his fingers a little wider, surely they would touch and form a sinful little wring around Ignatz’s slender waist. Where they touch, they burn in a searing, tender heat and Ignatz squirms, not because he wants him to stop but because he simply cannot get enough.

“Gotta stop wigglin’, Iggy,” Raphael hums, leaning back against the wall. He has Ignatz sitting in his lap. They’re both clothed, the door is closed, and it’s merely innocent touching, but Goddess forgive Ignatz, because his mind cannot stop being anything but. He sets his hands on Raphael’s forearms and squeezes encouragingly.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs, hips trembling just from the contact.

Raphael smiles and his eyes crinkle. Ignatz swears his heart does too, it crumples just a little after the swell of adoration he feels from looking at that smile.

And then Raph kisses him. He really is a gentle giant; Ignatz feels his breath, hot and damp across his cheeks, surely fogging his glasses. Those hands tighten just a little. The brush of their lips is almost chaste, were it not for Ignatz’s own burning desire. He wants to be ashamed, he really does, but when Raph kisses him so softly and so sweetly, he cannot help but want more.


End file.
